


Uneasy Alliance

by Ki_ru



Series: Into the Lion's Den [1]
Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blow Jobs, Choking, Crying, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Duct Tape, Electricity, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gags, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Masochism, Painplay, Praise Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Toys, Spanking, Spit As Lube, Verbal Humiliation, Whipping, Writing on Skin, if you squint a bit it's only dubcon, not the funny kind iykwim, the ending is almost cute, where do I even start
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 22:29:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ki_ru/pseuds/Ki_ru
Summary: Lion is giving Rook a hard time, so Bandit decides to teach him a lesson, making the unexpected discovery that Lion enjoys pain a little too much. So instead of teaching him a lesson, Bandit goes a little further.





	Uneasy Alliance

**Author's Note:**

> I have no one to blame but myself yet can pretend [Magehir](https://magehir.tumblr.com/) and [Zer0kaji](http://zer0kaji.tumblr.com/) share the blame with me.  
> Please enjoy. I know I did.  
> (Also, writing it A-lion-ce looked wrong to me, but that's the pun I'm trying to make in the title :)

_Six really knows how to pick them_ , Bandit thinks, breathing hard and squinting up at the Frenchman towering over him with no remorse showing in his blasé expression. A momentary lapse, a loss of balance for no longer than a second and that was all it took to take down the German – he had the upper hand up to that point, the element of surprise on his side seeing as Lion definitely didn’t expect to get attacked completely out of the blue while walking around the grounds. Regardless, he’s taller and heavier than Bandit and just as well-trained even if he seems to have more qualms about fighting dirty. “The fuck is your problem?”, Lion spits, anger tinting his speech for which Bandit can’t fault him.

“You’re an asshole.” It’s a pretty good reason in Bandit’s book, yet not the only one. There’s no way he can reveal his true motives, he’d turn Rook into a giant target which is exactly what he wants to avoid.

“I’m not the one going around starting fights. Are we done, are you satisfied? Or do I need to knock you out? Maybe next time you could try provoking someone your size.”

 _My size?_ Bandit’s mouth opens for a quip about the most obvious body part in this context when his eyes automatically fall to Lion’s crotch. And oh. Isn’t that interesting. “Yo, are you one of those people who get a fright boner?” It’s absolutely worth the kick in his ribs even if it _hurts_. If Lion actually breaks one of his bones, he’s toast: there are other ways Bandit can destroy him which don’t require face to face confrontations. “I know that I’m irresistible, but that’s just weird, dude, normally you should let me take my clothes off before you get off on beating me up.”

“That’s not – shut up. Don’t fucking do that again, understand? Next time I won’t be so lenient.”

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do? Slap me to death with your stiffy? You can report me to Six if you’d like but then everyone will know you secretly want a piece of my scrawny ass.”

“You’re delusional.”

This is fantastic. He’s really starting to get under Lion’s skin now and too invested to stop. “And you’re horny. Are you scared your dick is going to look tiny with my lips wrapped around it? I don’t bite, sweetheart.” When the next kick comes, he’s prepared. He might’ve lost the first fight but his aching body is ready for the next one that he _doesn’t_ intend to lose, so he drags Lion down to his level and claws into his face, tries to incapacitate him quickly but ends up wrestling with him for longer than he’d like. Lion is snarling and looking extremely offended, as if Bandit should’ve just given up after losing, and almost looks like he’d go on about _sportsmanship_ any second now – but then Bandit makes a riveting discovery.

Lion is still hard.

In fact, his erection seems even _more_ prominent now and so Bandit changes his mode of attack. Despite the fact that he’s a tosser, Lion has one of those aristocratic faces that makes you want to punch them: noble pale skin, pronounced cheekbones and a slim face – together with his light blue eyes, he’s handsome as fuck which only serves to spur Bandit on even more. Lion’s defence becomes increasingly panicked as soon as he realises his opponent is going for his crotch but a purposeful punch has him wheezing for air just as Bandit pulls the redhead’s dick through his underwear, exposing it to the cool air. It’s a good size, solid but not too large. “Nice cock”, says Bandit and swallows him whole.

It’s messy, Lion’s self-control is virtually non-existent and so he thrusts up into Bandit’s throat and simultaneously pulls on his hair, pushes his head down and refuses to let him breathe. His douchebaggery quite obviously extends to the bedroom because he’s behaving like absolute garbage, apparently enjoying making Bandit gag but at least he comes fast, of course without warning and while holding Bandit’s head in place. He refuses to swallow, instead lets it all leak back out, run down Lion’s shaft and soak into his trousers and underwear, and, like the pleasant, grateful angel he is, Lion kicks him in the stomach for good measure after he’s done ejaculating.

Not that it matters. Bandit would’ve let him choke him until he passes out if necessary. “Well, thank you for that”, he addresses Lion graciously while wiping come off his chin, “if you gotta let off more steam, you know where you can find me. Just come to my room, I’ll be discreet.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it”, Lion shoots back but doesn’t sound as hostile as he normally does. A good sign. A _very_ good sign.

 

To Bandit’s delight, he actually does turn up a few days later. He tries telling himself he knew Lion would, but his doubt increased with each passing day, making him wonder whether he should return the supplies he’s hopefully gathered. Actually finding himself with a semi-willing Frenchman at his disposal, however, makes his glee skyrocket though he tries not to let it show as he allows Lion inside. He can’t let his excitement show this early.

“Just to be clear, I’m doing the fucking”, Lion announces haughtily yet makes no move to do anything for now, just like Bandit expected.

“Sure, whatever you prefer”, he answers and doesn’t miss the way the Frenchie’s eyes narrow. He shouldn’t be too eager or it’ll arouse suspicion, so he adds: “I have a thing for hatefucking, actually, so I don’t mind whatever. Call me a masochist if you want. But let me see your fingernails before we start ‘cos I’m not letting you scratch me up.” He nonchalantly positions himself in the middle of the room, seemingly bored just to annoy Lion and stares at him until he huffs, walks over and presents both his hands.

In a swift, fluid and most of all _practised_ movement, Bandit slaps handcuffs on him, uses the momentary confusion to step on the chair behind him and has _just_ enough time to hook them into the carabiner that’s attached to the ceiling fixture Bandit has had installed for various purposes. This is one of them. He breathes a sigh of relief as soon as the chain is firmly secured to the ceiling and drinks in Lion’s disbelieving expression upon realising his arms are now useless, hands immovable over his head. “What”, says Lion and wouldn’t sound so calm if he’d processed what just happened. Bandit can watch his outrage grow and feels himself relax – this was the one part about which he wasn’t confident, the one potential flaw in his plan that could ruin it all. He pulled it off, however, and now the fun can begin. “The fuck? Let me go. This isn’t -”

“Oh, but it is”, Bandit assures him and quickly moves himself as well as the chair out of the way once Lion starts yelling and kicking at him. Humming to himself, he pulls out the box from under his bed and ponders which toy is probably best suited to get the raging Frenchman under control. He’s trying his best to escape, holds on to the cuffs and attempts to rip the fixture out of the ceiling (futile, it can hold more than twice his weight easily), to unclasp the chain from the spring hook (futile, it’s too high up even for him) or just to reach Bandit with the tip of his foot to kick him in the nuts (futile, he’s too far away). It’s like having trapped a wild animal, a big cat used to being the predator, not the prey. This gives him an idea.

He takes out the wand at a leisurely pace, plugs it in and smiles at the buzzing noise it immediately starts to emit. “Do you know what this is?”, he asks Lion conversationally which shuts him up for the moment at least, face contorted in anger and suspicion. “Normally, these things are harmless – in the sense that they don’t cause lasting damage or only a short painful sensation. But I’ve got an affinity for electricity, as you’re aware, and tuned it a little. It can do a lot of damage if I want it to and it’s in your best interest to not fight back for a minute, alright? After that I don’t care.”

“What, is that how long you’re gonna last?”, Lion snaps at him and glares when he approaches the ginger. “Don’t fucking touch me. If you let me go right now, I’ll forget all of this happened.”

“No can do. I’m going to undress you now and you’re going to play nice.” Bandit steps up to him, not even trying to conceal his satisfied grin, and lifts up Lion’s long-sleeved shirt by the hem. As soon as he sees one of his legs move – and of course it does, he didn’t think Lion would go down without a fight –, he touches the tip of the wand to his belly after moving aside as a precaution. Before it actually comes into contact with Lion’s skin, a spark jumps over, strong enough to make him cry out and almost fold in half, his muscles contracting involuntarily, his abs fluttering from the electrical shock. “You’re so predictable”, Bandit informs him, amused, and looks up to Lion’s hands. The force of the convulsions caused him to pull on the handcuffs fiercely and break open the skin on his wrists, leaving behind unpleasant-looking scratches and cuts. “Should’ve used the fuzzy ones, I suppose.”

“You’re fucking _sick_!”, Lion barks, his voice thick. “That thing is dangerous, fuck, that _hurt_ , you’re absolutely deranged, don’t -”

“Shut up and hold still. I’ll do it again if you say one more word.” With one hand and practised ease, he unbuttons the Frenchman’s jeans, pulls down the zip and pushes both his underwear and his denims over his hips. This is when Lion begins talking once more, a hostile ‘I’m going to’ that’s cut off by another scream when Bandit simply brushes the rod past his thigh, causing him to spasm once again, flinch away violently and shudder. “Those were three words”, he points out, “four if you squint. I’ll be generous and treat it as one. Shoes off.” He waits patiently for a few seconds, bored gaze directed at Lion’s grimace, then he raises the wand in his hand once more.

Once Lion’s shoes are off, Bandit removes his jeans and briefs as well before tying his ankles together to restrict his movement further. He has no time to admire his handiwork for now since he did promise to be more lenient about any struggling after a minute, so instead he quickly gets the pair of scissors, grinning at Lion’s aghast expression, and cuts his underwear in half. “What -”, says Lion and this time, it’s the other thigh. The involuntary twitching is terrific to observe and his genuine screams are music to Bandit’s ears as well as likely the last thing to come out of his mouth for a while.

“Open up.” He indicates Lion’s mouth and only earns a dark glare. “You really don’t learn, do you?” Now, when he threatens with the electric rod, the redhead almost trips over himself to comply. Despite him turning his head away halfway through, Bandit manages to stuff one half of his briefs into his mouth before ordering him to shut it again. “Keep it closed.” He unplugs the wand and puts it aside (much to Lion’s visible relief), gets the duct tape, rips two strips off and seals Lion’s lips with them, forming an X shape. “There we go. Don’t fucking choke on it or you might literally die. Oh – also!” He wiggles his eyebrows with a wolfish grin. “You’re _mute_ now.”

Snorting at his own joke, he cuts Lion’s shirt open and rips it from his body before he finally takes a step back to marvel at the beauty that is now at his disposal. Completely powerless, the only weapon Lion has left is a hateful stare from pretty eyes which, if looks could kill, would already have obliterated Bandit from existence. He really has a nice body: toned legs, a broad back, pronounced abs and strong arms, his muscles made even more prominent by the fact that he needs them to keep his balance, keep his wrists from getting shredded further by the unmerciful metal – a drop of blood is running down his forearm already, courtesy of the repeated shocking and the instinctual, forceful movements resulting from it. His skin is enticingly pale, almost entirely white and sprinkled with tiny birthmarks over his entire body as well as nigh-invisible freckles on his shoulders, nose and cheeks – he’s a canvas and Bandit hasn’t been this excited for a long time. Surprisingly, his dick that’s neatly shaved isn’t even completely flaccid. Lion is beautiful and Bandit is going to rip him to shreds.

But first, there’s something he has to do. “Look, buddy, I appreciate you wanting to jump right in with the self-harm, but that’s my job now. You’re not going to hurt yourself, got it? I will.” He procures some bandages from his personal stash, drags the chair closer again and climbs on it. This time, when Lion attempts to throw him off, he pinches the inside of his arm, right above his armpit – hard. Lion winces and produces a pained, muffled _mmm_ that Bandit is going to hear a lot in the near future. “Behave, I gotta do something about this.” Awkwardly, he manages to wrap the soft gauze around Lion’s injured wrists enough times to ensure he won’t damage them further and secure it with more tape, encouraging him to test the thickness of it. He’s satisfied when Lion nods meekly.

Now again eye to eye with him, Bandit runs his hands over his upper body, his skin cool to the touch, his ribs sticking out due to his position, his belly flat. Even after the pain caused earlier, ticklish touches make him shy away from Bandit’s fingertips and vocalise in protest. Promising. His nipples are obviously one of his weak spots as he tries his best to prevent access but once Bandit gets his hands on them, he relaxes under the gentle strokes – not fully, there’s quite some tension remaining but he refrains from actively fighting back. After a short while, he does small gasps through his nose whenever Bandit gingerly rolls a pink bud between his digits and his cock is filling with blood, twitching now and then even at the unwanted stimulation.

“Very sensitive”, Bandit murmurs in amazement and gives a last light pinch before withdrawing, “it’s said that gingers have a lower pain threshold than other people. I guess I’ll find out whether it’s true.” Lion’s eyes follow him in distrust as he walks around him and examines his other side. His back is curved elegantly and his ass extremely inviting, so Bandit can’t help but take aim and slap one of the cheeks full force with fingers outstretched, the meaty _smack_ almost as delicious as the surprised _mmmph_ from Lion – but the best part is simply watching as the white skin slowly turns bright red in a perfect outline of Bandit’s handprint. Stunning.

Happily, he rummages around in his box of supplies again, aware of Lion’s gaze in his back as he twists around to check what he’s doing. “Have you ever shoved anything up your ass?”, Bandit wants to know and returns the defiant stare curiously. A slow shake of the head. “Are you lying?” The Frenchie hesitates. He seems to be gauging which answer produces the most favourable outcome for him. “Did you enjoy it?” Now he looks pained – he knows he can’t win, Bandit will be content regardless of his answer. Chuckling, Bandit selects a toy specifically designed to cause the most intense pleasure, pours some lube over it and adds a second handprint to the other side of Lion’s ass when he tries to squirm away and out of his reach, causing him to moan around the makeshift gag.

“Turn the other cheek, hm? Relax and push against it – or don’t, I don’t care. This thing is going inside whether you’re cooperating or not.” He rubs the tip over Lion’s hole and smiles when it does its best to accommodate the unfamiliar intrusion. For the moment, he’s patient, allows for a few breaks and works the silicone toy in with gentle movements, watches, transfixed, how Lion tenses up more with every centimetre, clearly uncomfortable but not yet complaining loudly. Once it’s all the way in, Bandit pats his red buttocks, mutters a low _good boy_ and turns the vibration on. This, finally, has Lion writhing and trying to get away from the sensation, muscles showing beneath his skin, and he nearly falls over – well, as far as the handcuffs would let him anyway. He still has some pride and stubbornness left that Bandit needs to eradicate.

Pale blue eyes that normally regard everything and every _one_ around them with disdain widen in panic as he gets out two plastic clothes pegs, a head shakes emphatically but Bandit clamps them down on Lion’s nipples nonetheless, disregarding his loud, unintelligible objections. He’s almost done. A quick decision and another item from his collection and he’s back at Lion’s front, examining his half-hard cock with interest. As much as his face would like to propagate he’s not, his dick claims that he’s enjoying this. Bandit fits the adjustable loop over his shaft and secures it at the base, pulling it tight. “Is this enough?”, he asks and, after Lion has nodded hastily, tightens it even more. He repeats the process with his balls as well and steps back again, fascinated by the sight before him.

Lion, unchanged, is still glaring at him fiercely, reddish-brown eyebrows drawn together in contempt and hands gripping the chain between the cuffs to probably hold him back. Even so, his façade is cracking, his posture suffering under Bandit’s ministrations: there’s a manic glint in his eyes and he doesn’t look as stable as ten minutes ago – neither mentally nor physically. “You look good, kitty”, Bandit tells him with a grin, “but I don’t think you know your place yet. Let me remind you of who you are.” He grabs one of the permanent markers and moves to write on the tape over Lion’s mouth, is once again met with resistance and simply slaps him in the face with enough force to knock his head aside. This time, he has the presence of mind to check Lion’s crotch and feels his eyebrows rise at the fact that his boner hasn’t flagged, not even a little bit. Quite the opposite.

“Seems like you’re a little bitch”, Bandit tells him, now highly entertained, and writes the two words on Lion’s cheeks, just above the duct tape and onto his cheekbones – one on the left, one on the right which is bright red, flushed from the hit. For good measure, he adds _slut_ to the middle of the tape over his mouth and then taps one of the clothes pegs with the marker, making Lion jump. “You’re a fucking slut and therefore no one cares what you have to say. But do you know what else you are?” In large letters, he adds _OWNED_ across his belly, paints the word onto skin with several thick passes and enjoys how the muscles dance under the ticklish strokes, a perversion of an affectionate gesture. “You’re _mine_.”

Eyelids adorned with fair lashes flutter. He’s starting to understand it’ll be a while until they’re done but he refuses to give in yet. Bandit is certain he will.

“Don’t peek if you don’t want to be blindfolded as well. And believe me, you want to be able to see what’s coming to you.” This time, Lion complies and doesn’t turn around, leaves his back turned and breathes irregularly. He’s a feast for the senses, subtly trembling and steadfastly holding on to the chains restraining him, the singular trail of blood on his forearm dried by now and marvellous against his pale skin. Bandit decides against flogging, considers whipping but it would ruin the pristine expanse of his back immediately and while the marks would be pretty to look at, there’s something he wants to try first. As soon as he nears Lion again, his shoulders tense up. He’s scared.

The handprints have begun to fade slightly, so Dom refreshes them gladly before starting to scratch words into Lion’s back with his fingernail, just light enough not to cause bleeding but still leaving behind bright red paths that spell _I am a bitch_ on porcelain skin. “Can you tell what I wrote?”, he asks politely and, just as Lion is about to answer, brings down the wooden ruler on his thigh with a satisfying _thwack_ that’s accompanied by a surprised, pained grunt. He caught Lion off-guard, so he repeats the motion quickly, hits him a little lower and stays in the area just below his ass, hits him until that leg gives in and angry red welts have appeared on the skin before switching over to the other one and repeating the process with endless patience. He only stops once the backs of both his thighs are bruising and crimson. He couldn’t have demanded better reactions, Lion continuously tries and fails to squirm away, keens at the sharp pain and shudders whenever Bandit pauses momentarily.

He’s starting out intensely, maybe with a little too much, Bandit is aware – but the vibrating massager inside Lion must be working its magic seeing as it undoubtedly rubs over that special place every time he clenches around it. He decides to help it along and switches from his thighs to his buttocks, watches them flex under each consecutive hit and makes sure to do a thorough job in covering them with stripes that darken with each new impact as well. The surface of the ruler is comparatively small and therefore the hurt it inflicts crisp and distinct. The process is oddly freeing and Bandit forgot how much he adores the simple act of making someone suffer, having someone completely at his mercy. Part of him wants to carve the ginger up, leave permanent marks he’ll carry for the rest of his life so he never forgets what he is – yet that’d go too far.

Lion’s whining is magnificent, wholly incomprehensible and tinted with despair, laced with pleasure. It gets louder if Bandit strikes the same place several times and is reduced to a low begging in between hits. He’s very vocal and Bandit suspects it’s genuine panic which causes it, therefore he notices immediately when it begins to die down, slip into moaning, change into something more carnal. It’s clear what’s going on and there’s no way Bandit is allowing it.

“No you don’t”, he says with a grin, walks around Lion and looks him in the half-lidded, tear-filled eyes as he reaches up and puts his hand around his throat, his thumb and index finger on Lion’s pulse points. “You’re not going to go to your happy place, bitch. I’m not going to let you.” Once he starts pressing down, he feels the racing heartbeat struggle against his digits while the redhead is rudely dragged back to reality, forced out of his blissful state in which pain and pleasure are interchangeable by the adrenaline rush that kicks in as soon as his body realises it might die. He tries fighting it, push either of them away but is too weak already, overexerted from having to stay upright and enduring the spanking and so all he can do is whimper full of fear. He’s staring at Bandit imploringly and must see something cold and unmerciful in his face because he suddenly goes slack. He’s got it now, he’s understood that nothing of what he does will convince or prevent Bandit from doing anything.

So Bandit lets go. For a short while, it almost seems as if he’d have to remove the gag to allow Lion to breathe freely but he’s well-trained and doesn’t end up hyperventilating, forces himself to calm his shuddering, greedy breaths. “You’re a waste of space”, Bandit tells him matter-of-factly. “The world would honestly be better off without you, there is nothing you contribute. In our line of work, we usually come out positive, end up having saved more lives than we took. With you, I’m not so sure.” Lion blinks at him in helpless confusion, as if he couldn’t understand why anyone would be this cruel to him. It’s clear his mind has entered an altered state, a safety measure meant to aide him in surviving, in abiding this torture. This doesn’t fly. Bandit needs him to be here fully.

When he starts pressing down again, life returns to the rag doll in front of him, head shaking frantically and unintelligible moaning insistent, so Bandit takes pity on him and stops, relishes in the deeply grateful look he receives in return. All the contempt from before has vanished, given way to an almost appreciative gaze purely because he _didn’t_ choke him. They’re heading in the right direction. Not only that, Lion is rock hard, has been for a while judging by how purple his tip is, and he’s leaking like a faucet as well, drops of precum running down his shaft and dripping to the floor forming a tiny puddle.

“Fucking reprobate”, Bandit murmurs and slaps the front of Lion’s thigh with the ruler, making his cock jump. “How are you going to justify this to your God, hm?” Another hit in the same place. “A simple _forgive me for I have sinned_ isn’t going to be enough if your entire fucking existence is a sin. Do you ever go to your priest and confess about this?” The whimpers are back to their original volume again now, so he must feel each snap acutely, each snap that accompanies Bandit’s words. “Do you say: I receive sexual pleasure when another man hurts me? Huh?” More tears are welling up now and running over Lion’s cheeks, leaving behind a wet trail over the writing and the tape before falling to the floor, right next to the precum. “How about you say it now?”

Disbelief stares back at him. “Go on. Say it. I’ll play nice if you do, I’ll stop with this -”, again the same spot that’s almost making Lion dance in agony now, twisting his leg to try and make the hurt subside more quickly, “- and make you feel real good. How does that sound? You just have to say it.” The briefs ensure that most vowel sounds are obscured to the point of being indistinguishable and yet it’s perfectly possible to very roughly make out what he’s mumbling given that Bandit knows what he’s trying to vocalise. Regardless, it’s not about him clearly forming the words, instead it’s making him _think_ them about himself, believe them, taste them on his tongue like burning shame. “Ah, I didn’t catch that. Could you repeat?”

Lion refuses mutely, rebels against this injustice yet ends up sobbing when Bandit uses the ruler once more. Now he’s more cooperative, tries again and this time Bandit is satisfied. “You know what kind of people get off on that? Depraved perverts. Do you ever tell anyone that you’re depraved, immoral and perverted? Tell me. Go on.” A smile tugs on his lips as the ginger struggles to enunciate the words, pleasingly compliant yet averting his eyes. “Do it again and look at me.” When Lion doesn’t obey straightaway, Bandit smacks his other thigh as a warning but doesn’t have to repeat the motion. “Very good. You’re starting to learn your place. But you know who gets aroused by other dudes? Guys who are fucking gay. And you’re one of them, bitch. Say it.”

At this point. Lion would probably repeat anything after him, so Bandit decides to make use of it. “Good boy. Well done. There’s just one last thing which we both know but haven’t addressed yet – you’re gagging for my cock, aren’t you?” This gives Lion pause. “This isn’t over until I’ve fucked you raw, kitten, so you better be looking forward to it. Let me hear it.” It takes him visible effort to parse and reproduce the words eventually coming out as nothing but a series of _mmph_ s which sound sugary sweet to Bandit’s ears nonetheless, so lovely that he asks to hear them again before nodding contentedly. “That’s right. Good boy. You _are_ gagging for it, hm?” He steps around the abused body to feast his eyes on the countless red stripes and the faded declaration of Lion being a bitch again, though his target is nestled deep inside Lion and contributing to this ongoing erosion of his entire being. “Yeah you are.” With a twist of his wrist, he turns the vibrations all the way up and sets the ruler aside for now.

If Lion is allowed a short break, he should be as well, so he disregards the small noises coming from the Frenchman and lights up a cigarette. His arms are a little tired though it’s in no form comparable to what Lion must be feeling, yet the first deep drag is heavenly and like a well-deserved respite. He walks around a bit, drinks some water and makes a point out of ignoring the redhead generously to give him the chance to calm down. When he returns to him, Lion’s eyes are tired, his limbs weighed down by exhaustion and some of his weight on his wrists again. Bandit unties his feet, confident that even though he could, he’s not going to fight back now, and allows for a more stable stance which Lion gladly takes, adjusting his aching legs with a grimace. All protest is gone as well now, he’s resigned himself to his fate.

His breathing has evened out, his heart is pumping fast but not overly, and a lot of the tension has seeped out of his body. Bandit doesn’t think he could brace himself against a whip right now, so he takes a different course of action. First, he removes the pegs from his nipples, causing a wince when the blood uncomfortably rushes back into them, then he spits into his hand before wrapping it around Lion’s dick. Where it was pretty before, now it’s gorgeous: dark and heavy, a few veins standing out, unwaveringly hard and cool to the touch both from being exposed this long and the trapped blood not being warmed by his body heat. The moan he earns in return is relieved, longing and heartfelt, it’s the first time Lion’s cock is being touched and he revels in it; it jumps happily in Bandit’s tight grip and the ginger is even smart enough not to thrust his hips but rather stand still and allow the pleasure to wash over him. He looks like his eyes are going to roll back into his head any second now yet there’s also some hesitation. He’s expecting a catch and so Bandit doesn’t want to leave him hanging.

“Feels good, hm?” His strokes stay mercifully slow to assist the redhead in not climaxing too soon, though his fist travels up and down the entire length still. “If you come before I finish my cigarette, I’ll put it out on your skin and I’ll do it slowly.” Lion’s eyes snap back to him and he instinctively shies away from Bandit’s touch. “I can tell you have no idea what that’s like, so let me describe it to you – you might think you’ve felt this kind of pain before, but you haven’t. It’s blinding and you’re lucky if you pass out from it, but the action itself isn’t the worst part. The worst part is cleaning the wound afterwards, because the ashes are all the way in there, so you need intense scrubbing if you don’t want any residue, and even then it’ll probably get infected if I do it right – and I’ve got practise. It’s a third degree burn. So you better hold back.”

It’s unfair, in a way. He can see the involuntary curiosity in Lion’s eyes, the attentiveness – he’s thinking about it, imagining himself being reduced to an ashtray, of wallowing in the bright hot anguish and it’s making his cock throb in Bandit’s hand. Threatening him doesn’t succeed in helping him control himself but rather achieves the opposite: now that the seed for the idea is planted, he kind of _wants_ it to happen. This is when Bandit realises he’s got serious issues. Not just the ones he already knew about but deep seated, unhealthy, festering problems.

Still. It doesn’t concern Bandit, so he speeds up a little, spits into his palm again and mixes his saliva with the precum dribbling out, wanks Lion at a leisurely pace that under other circumstances wouldn’t have nearly been enough yet in the intensely aroused state he is in right now, it’s sweet torture. Bandit watches him wrestle with himself as he keeps smoking nonchalantly and taking his time doing it. The mewls of pleasure have a decidedly different quality than the ones born from pain, they’re softer, more subdued, full of bliss. Each of Lion’s senses is heightened, that much is obvious, he’s extremely sensitive and looking for more tactile sensations, shifts his weight restlessly, shuffles a tiny bit closer and it’s adorable. Like a victim of abuse who unfailingly returns to their abuser.

Bandit smirks but grants him permission, steps forward enough for Lion to rest his forehead on Bandit’s shoulder, curl into him, seeking affection, and bury his face in the crook of his neck. His hair, so orderly before and wild, sweaty now, tickles slightly so Bandit blows some smoke into it. For an uncharacteristically quiet while, they just stand there, leaning into each other, Bandit finishing up his cigarette while stroking the weeping erection that’s exposed between them, Lion moaning gently and trembling now and then from the effort of forcing himself back from the edge. He’s doing well, doesn’t even complain as Bandit picks up the pace, massages the thick head and twists his wrist on every upstroke.

When he takes his hand away and withdraws, Lion gasps and sways in place at the loss of physical contact, his dick pulsing and needy. Bandit puts out his cigarette and picks the permanent marker up again. “Well done”, he says and writes _Good boy_ below Lion’s collarbone, all the way across his chest. Lion is gazing at him almost lovingly now, laughably devoted, clearly confused due to all the endorphins being released into his system. Chances are that Bandit will have him eating out of his palm after this. He’s starving for any kind of validation now, would probably beg for Bandit to take back his earlier words, or – if he still feels he deserves them – be punished some more so he can repent. Any affectionate touch probably feels divine to him after the intensity of the pain earlier and therefore, Bandit lets him starve.

He starts out slow again by removing the loop around Lion’s balls and adding clothes pegs, simply catching some of the skin between the prongs and then letting them hang, applies a large handful until each of Lion’s movements has them clacking against each other and finishes by putting two on his nipples again now that they’ve recovered. Lion is pliant under his hands now, spreads his legs for better access, follows orders almost eagerly. So Bandit has done it. He’s tamed him.

Deciding against sounding for now (he’s getting impatient, seeing the Frenchman in this state is intoxicating and he doesn’t want to wait much longer), he resorts to his favourite whip that yanks Lion pitilessly back into a world of pain, shatters the idyllic illusion of Bandit having gone soft on him. He takes it with more poise than Bandit would’ve expected though he’s probably just hoarse at this point and wholly drained, unable to struggle against his restraints and therefore forced to simply endure. He flinches after each hit, even anticipates them and so Bandit switches up the rhythm, leaves him guessing, strikes unexpectedly. It’s meant to hurt without breaking the skin, so when the first drops of blood well up on the abused skin, he stops and examines the result.

The redhead is shuddering again, his back a mess of red stripes criss-crossing and barely leaving any space for his beautiful light skin; he’s now hanging limply from the ceiling and having serious difficulties keeping upright, the extreme pain finally too much. There’s hardly anything left of him, no hope in his pale blue eyes, just acceptance. He doesn’t plead, doesn’t implore, doesn’t complain, he merely waits. Without any expression, he follows Bandit with his gaze not because he wants or needs to know what he has to endure next but rather because it’s movement in his peripheral vision and so his eyes are instinctively drawn to it. This is where Bandit wanted him – he’s not just tamed anymore.

Now he’s broken.

Satisfied, he pushes his table towards Lion, climbs back on the chair and unclasps the chain from the ceiling, catches the Frenchman when he slumps and pours him onto the tabletop where he bonelessly collapses, legs hanging over the edge and stinging back on the cool surface. He sounds pitiful as he very slowly moves his arms back down and adjusts them, a series of self-inflicted whines like a puppy that misses its owner. Wondrously enough, he’s steadfastly aroused – his erection simply refuses to die down. It’s remarkable and the first time Bandit has seen anything like it in person.

“Spread your legs, bitch”, he addresses the ginger sharply who complies, grants Bandit access to his crotch where he quickly begins taking off the pegs again. Some are stuck to the skin with one or even both of their prongs, so he has to pull them off with a little more force, causing Lion to mew and his fingers to twitch. He’s now resting his hands on his abdomen, visibly relieved about the change in position though the blood returning to the skin of his scrotum can’t be pleasant. Once all the pegs are off and discarded, he switches off the vibrations, coaxes the toy out of Lion while noting how hungrily his hole tries to hold on to it and puts it aside as well.

He doesn’t undress for Lion. Instead, he pulls down his own trousers and underpants enough for his cock to jut out, glistening and ravenous, having looked forward to this moment for a long while. “Up”, he orders and taps the side of Lion’s thigh, flicks a finger against the dark red spot he maltreated earlier, prompting Lion to undertake the effort of lifting his legs which immediately start to tremble from exertion, so Bandit rests them on his shoulders. And finally, Lion understands what’s about to happen. His eyes widen, he shakes his head in terror and his fingers try to get a hold on Bandit’s shirt before being swatted away, though a slap to a sore butt cheek convinces him now it’s a little too late to stop.

Bandit takes a moment to admire what he’s created, the previously so proud and prickly operator reduced to _this_ , muted so his clipped speech and sharp words are utterly meaningless, constrained so all that training is rendered futile, insulted without being able to retaliate, tortured with the knowledge that nothing he can do would make it stop and now having to suffer the humiliation of having the chance to fight back but being too weak to do so. The writing on his regal cheekbones is as crisp as the one on his upper body, he’s still a little bitch and a good boy and _owned_. His dick is leaking onto his belly, into his navel – it’s a miracle his balls aren’t empty yet. His face is flushed and his unsteady hands are reaching down, pausing, unsure what to do because he knows he can’t do anything but wants to anyway.

Lion doesn’t get any additional lube or preparation. He should be stretched enough, there’s some residual lube and besides, he’ll like it anyway even if it stings. Bandit pushes his thighs further towards his body nonetheless and spits on his exposed ring of muscle before breaching him slowly, granting some time for him to accommodate his dick as he works it in with lazy thrusts. Lion is blissfully tight and piping hot, a vice-like grip around him into which Bandit sinks gladly. Actually, he feels _excellent_ , clenching so hard it can’t be on purpose, there’s no way he knows that using his Kegel muscles feels so fucking good for Bandit, so he tries to find out the source for his discomfort. Lion’s whimpering is not helping since it seems to be directed at anything and everything, but it seems that Bandit was holding on to the backs of his thighs exactly in the spots he spanked earlier, judging by the fierce discolouration.

As soon as he moves his hands to the backs of Lion’s knees experimentally, he can feel him relax a little. Intriguing. “Are you going to confess this part too?”, Bandit wants to know curiously after he’s bottomed out. “That you allowed another man to fuck you in the ass and _liked_ it?” The hurt and confusion are back now, as if the normal pain was fine but why did Bandit have to bring his hypocrisy into this? As if any part of his miserable existence was off limits. Bandit withdraws and snaps his hips forwards which has Lion scrambling to do _something_ once more because now Bandit’s upper thighs are smacking against his abused buttocks, definitely causing a sharp sensation with each thrust.

For Bandit, it’s perfect, the friction is amazing and the relief of finally being able to most certainly deflower this wankstain overwhelming. He doesn’t think Lion has ever let anyone fuck him, though the possibility remains seeing as how easily he gave in to the blow job that started all this – but he likes to think he’s the first to grant the redhead this pleasure. He keeps up a fast tempo, slams against the reddened skin with abandon and holds on to Lion’s hipbones. “You know”, he pants in between thrusts, “we might’ve finally found a use for you. Make sure to let everyone you meet know that your hole is your greatest asset, little bitch.”

Lion is averting his gaze now, tears of shame forming in the corners of his eyes that probably burn much more than the ones caused by pain earlier. He’s powerless and knows it, has to let Bandit use him and still, he’s hard. Maybe there’s something really wrong with his brain, some wires crossing that aren’t meant to, some synapses formed oddly. Not that Bandit is complaining. Lion is mostly silent now except for a small noise here and there after a vicious thrust and Bandit is about to change that – how, he’s not entirely sure – when the ginger suddenly rears up, arches his back, starts clawing at the duct tape without getting a good grip on it and it’s not hard to imagine what happened when Bandit gets a look at his wide eyes.

If he’s honest, for a second he toys with the idea of not intervening immediately, mostly because Lion is clamping down on him more vehemently than before, yet he’s also starting to thrash which dampens the fun a little. Bandit yanks on the chain so his hands aren’t in the way, rips off the tape in one go which must hurt hellishly, and pulls out the soaked fabric that got caught in the back of Lion’s throat. He drops it to the floor and waits as the Frenchman eagerly sucks in air, coughs in between and breathlessly swears in French. “Shut up”, Bandit addresses him with a serious expression. “I still have the other half and I’ll use it if you say one more word.” Lion snaps his mouth shut instantly and glares at him, clearly upset about the injustice of it all but Bandit just returns to pounding him as if nothing happened.

There’s an upside to this – now he can hear the pretty voice (which is indeed hoarse) much better, every moan that escapes the unmarred throat crystal clear and a definite turn-on, just like the fact that he’s choosing to obey and refrains from saying anything. It gets old after a while though and despite the fact Bandit can feel his orgasm approaching and he could easily come like this, he doesn’t want to yet. He lets Lion’s legs fall to the side and leans over him, props himself up with one arm next to his head and uses the other to grab the redhead’s wet dick once again. Like this, they’re almost eye to eye and as Bandit grins down at him, Lion stares back up with newfound loathing that probably stems from his sudden presence of mind after almost choking to death. He bites his lip when Bandit starts jerking him off and grinding against him, going deep and slower with almost sensual movements.

“Where do you want me to shoot my come?” Predictably, no answer – Lion has learnt his lesson about disobeying direct commands. “Hm? Do you want me to jizz on your dick?” No reaction except for a moan that he unsuccessfully tries to bite back. “Or do you want me to come inside? You do, don’t you, bitch? Say it. You’re allowed.” If at all possible, the pretty cheeks blush even more and the glare turns scandalised. “I’ve heard that a strong electric shock makes an orgasm feel even better. Wanna find out yourself?” Lion is shaking his head now, still not complying which only fuels Bandit’s need to push him. “Where do you want me to come, kitty?”

“Inside”, he grits out, visibly uncomfortable with the idea.

“Say it. What do you want me to do?”

“Come inside.” His ears are bright red now yet he can’t help but gasp when Bandit speeds up his strokes. Being coerced to utter phrases this shameful seems to be doing it for him.

“Be polite. I’m doing you a favour with this.”

Lion is getting more and more flustered, his lust is winning over his shame and the hurt encompassing his body. His abs are tensing up and his legs even press against Bandit’s sides. “Please come inside.”

“Do you deserve it?” The Frenchie’s mouth falls open and his hips lift slightly from the tabletop, push his throbbing cock into Bandit’s fist and cause him to slow down with his hand, even though his sharp thrusts don’t let up. He’s beginning to understand – he won’t be allowed to climax without obeying first.

“Yes”, he whispers and moans desperately when Bandit tightens his grip.

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_.” More insistent, even impatient.

“Why?” This gives him pause. It’s the first question he can’t answer easily, so he looks up at Bandit with an upset frown. “Why do you deserve it?” He gets it. He doesn’t like it, but he gets it.

“Because I’m a good boy.”

Bandit almost creams himself right on the spot. The reluctance, the hatred in those beautiful eyes, the feeling of his inner walls dragging Bandit in during each thrust, it’s too much. He switches to languid, short motions, barely withdraws before he buries himself deep inside again, and massages Lion’s cock in time with his movements. “Yeah? Have you been good?”, he breathes with a manic smirk. “Look at me.”

The withering stare that’s weakening by the second bores into his skull and it’s _marvellous_. “Yes.”

“Say it. Let me hear it.”

“I’ve been good.” He can’t get enough of this mixture, not enough of the accent, the audible arousal, the contempt, and so he keeps asking, gets increasingly agitated replies that only serve to heighten his lust. “Yes. Please. I’ve been good. _Please._ ”

“Have you really?”

“Yes, I’ve been so good, I did everything you asked, please just let me -”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Come inside. Please come inside. I want you to.” He’s desperate, clinging to Bandit’s shirt now, pulling him closer, meeting his thrusts and the sudden willingness is so fucking hot that Bandit has to speed up again, feels Lion tensing up around and under him, groaning and pleading, they’re both so close and getting closer fast, staring into each other’s eyes as Bandit drives into him, Lion’s fists clenching in his shirt and then he moans: “Fill me up.”

And Bandit loses it.

He bottoms out with a last hard thrust and stays there, moans loudly at all the sensations happening at once: Lion trembling, his muscles convulsing around Bandit’s cock, milking him as he ejaculates in mind-numbing waves. They’re coming simultaneously, the erection in Bandit’s hand jumping and pulsing just like his own, Lion’s throaty noises echoing his own, both of them lost in their own pleasure. It’s a tremendous relief and tastes like victory to Bandit, lovely, deserved and blissful. He’s the first to mark Lion like this, claim him and paint his insides white, defile him, taint him forever and warp his mind – these are memories he’ll likely never forget, he’ll never forget the feeling of having another guy, of having _Bandit_ shoot his sperm into him. The fact that he managed to get Lion to beg for it makes it all the sweeter.

They don’t come down for a while, Bandit’s lower abdomen keeps spasming now and then, his cock twitches with the aftershocks and they’re out of breath, heart racing, muscles tense and the rest of their bodies unmoving as they bask in the heat of all of it. It’s intense and accompanied by a comfortable elation which feels like a drug, softens him around the edges and calms him immensely. As unthinkable as it is, once the spikes have begun to subside, he looks down at the man who’s nothing but trouble and feels a warm, fuzzy feeling that stems not only from his own superiority but also a strange fondness, even pride at the fact Lion held up so well.

It doesn’t seem to be mutual, or rather it’s that Lion sobers up more quickly, begins withdrawing as soon as his breathing normalises: his hands let go of Bandit’s shirt and his legs sink back down, his face contorts into a grimace that can only be caused by all his injuries and tender spots, all the pain barraging him at once. He attempts to push Bandit away but is met with resistance as he refuses to pull out yet, so he snaps: “Get off me.” Bandit smiles at him lovingly and wonders which of his many weak spots he should utilise to force him back in line. “You got what you wanted, right? We’re fucking done. Let me go.”

“Sure”, he replies easily, “I’ll just let you walk out like this. Jizz running down your inner thigh, even more jizz all over your chest – and even if you wanted to dress, only your jeans are still intact. But please, show everyone the whip marks. Let everyone know what you are.” He indicates Lion’s torso that spells it out in large letters, earning a dark look for his trouble. “No? Thought so. Stay where you are.” After he’s pulled his softening dick out and his clothes back on, Bandit grabs the ginger by the throat and slams him back down onto the wooden surface when Lion starts propping himself up. “I said stay. Got it?” No affirmation is as good as any, so he steps away and gathers a few things, keeping an eye on the Frenchie.

He’s starting to crash now, the happy hormones from his orgasm fading fast and making way for all the distress signals rushing to his brain – and they’re manifold. Bandit returns and begins by removing the cock ring and then the clothes pegs from Lion’s nipples, prompting a hiss, as well as unlocking the handcuffs. Lion seems to have understood he’s trying to help now since he keeps still while Bandit carefully peels off the makeshift bandages, then disinfects and wraps his wrists up more professionally. The wounds aren’t serious but ugly, several long crescents cut into the skin. They’ll be hard to explain and probably visible, he should’ve been more cautious. Lion’s crotch is doing fine, his dick still swollen but it’ll subside, no blood anywhere. All in all he’s doing alright, no signs of fainting though he’s starting to shiver now as his body temperature drops. Bandit makes him sit up and inspects his back that’s still marked with red stripes, same as his ass and thighs – there’ll be exquisite bruising, no doubt, yet no lasting damage, nothing needing to be bandaged up or taken care of another way.

“Can I f-fucking leave now?”, Lion asks sarcastically but there’s no way he’d be able to walk, even if he weren’t shuddering this violently. He’s not even aware of doing it and if he is, maybe thinks it’s disgust.

“To the bed. Let’s go.” With a bit of prodding and pulling, Bandit gets him to his feet and together they stumble over, collapsing onto the mattress before Bandit drapes the blanket over both of them.

“What are you -”

“Shut up. Come here.” Lion’s pride doesn’t take priority for long and though he’s hesitant, he does accept the offer, moves closer and wraps around him after Bandit merely presents himself as a source of warmth. It might seem exceedingly odd for Lion, despite how grateful he must be, but Bandit doesn’t bat an eye – he knows exactly how Lion feels right now, tired, overwhelmed, freezing, depressed. This shit is exhausting and even more exhausting when you hate yourself, so you take what you can get and right now, Bandit is all Lion can have. So he better not be choosy. It hits him hard, only kicks in after Bandit puts his arms around the now even prettier, lost, hurt Frenchman and makes no move to disappear or even just judge him for displaying his weaknesses.

This time, his sobbing is silent but vicious, adding to the tremors wracking his body. It’s dry but that doesn’t make it any less brutal, not when he’s shaking so much Bandit feels the need to tighten his hold just to stop him from vibrating off the side of his bed. There are a million smart remarks on his tongue and he disregards them all, just holds on to the asshole in his arms and waits for it to pass, lets his hands rest in places he didn’t mark earlier: in the nape of his neck and his lower back. He’s inflicted enough pain for now. He’s done.

The only thing he does say is: “You’re in Rainbow. Act like it.”

Once Lion has finished and isn’t cold like a fucking corpse to the touch anymore, Bandit untangles himself from him and presses a chocolate bar into his hands before soaking a tissue in nail polish remover. “Close your eyes.” The redhead is sceptical, not like Bandit can blame him, but realises soon enough what he’s about to do. He obliges, even tilts his head up and makes it strangely intimate, Bandit leaning over him to wipe off the black marker from his cheeks as he displays a trust for which there is no ground – Bandit has never needed an excuse to hurt him, yet suddenly Lion believes he wouldn’t do so unless there’s a reason. He ends up half-assing the task, mostly just smearing the words to illegibility so they look like war paint and not writing anymore. He can’t stand how vulnerable Lion allows himself to be under his touch, never asked for this kind of responsibility.

As a last sign of good will, he throws one of his shirts onto the blanket. Lion is oddly quiet, examines it for a moment before directing his inquisitive gaze at Bandit. “We’re done”, he tells the ginger curtly. “You can leave.” He watches and makes no move to help as Lion unsteadily puts on his jeans, shoes and the borrowed shirt on uneasy legs, hands shaking and gorgeous face deathly pale now, even more so under the black smudges. Once he’s done, he pauses yet seems to sense Bandit’s piercing gaze and therefore leaves without a single look back or another word. When he’s gone, the room is eerily silent even if there’s evidence of his presence everywhere.

Bandit cards a hand through his hair, rubs his face and heaves a sigh when he looks around the room, takes stock of the carnage. “Fucking hell”, he murmurs and begins cleaning up.

 

He mellows out. No one else knows why but it’s as if Lion traded personalities overnight – it’s subtle though shocking to anyone unlucky and close enough to him that they have to deal with him every day. Rook happily reports the lack of snide remarks towards him and even though Lion hasn’t become more sociable, he’s less of a pain now, does what he’s told and overall comes off as more humble. He’s still arrogant and a dick and mostly insufferable but it’s less personal now, stings less, is sometimes even accompanied by a self-deprecating joke.

Bandit doesn’t pay the talk much attention. He does what he always does, allows Rook to chew his ear off, practises insults on him until he squeals in delight and complains to Blitz that his boyfriend is too naive for this world. His everyday life hasn’t changed in the slightest, though he catches himself sometimes loudly using the word _bitch_ while Lion happens to be in the same room. It’s satisfying to notice blue eyes flitting over to him momentarily. They don’t interact. There’s nothing to say and nothing to do.

It lasts almost a month, just shy of four weeks – long enough so people become used to it and react oddly when Lion starts reverting back to his old self. This, too, doesn’t capture Bandit’s interest. As long as the kid is fine, he’s unconcerned. The shouting match between the redhead and Thermite is impossible to ignore but easy to gloss over though something unexpected seems to come out of it.

There’s a knock on his door a day after the ugly argument.

Lion doesn’t say anything, simply steps inside and looks around with an air of unwilling anticipation – as if he doesn’t want to be here at all, but now that he is, he might as well get it behind him.

There is so much Bandit wants to do to him. Every single one of his senses latches onto his prey. He wants to tear and bite and _taste_ , hear his screams and watch bruises form, observe as every last shred of hope and decency vanishes from those breathtaking eyes, feel him tense around him. The box is still under his bed and offers a variety of options but he starts out by having Lion undress. He feels his eyebrows lift as he catches sight of the words on his chest, words that should’ve been long gone, faded, washed off, scrubbed off, frantically removed in an attempt to cleanse himself – words that haven’t been written by him alone anymore, by the looks of it, have been carefully traced in front of a mirror by Lion’s own hand, a little shaky, a little awkward but the message is very clear nonetheless. They’re still there. Lion is still both of those things.

And so Bandit repeats the ones below his collarbone and though Lion doesn’t smile, a fire ignites in his pale eyes.


End file.
